


Mountains Outside Mountains

by Mahlerman



Category: Bleach, Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Momoshiro Takeshi/Tachibana An side pairing, Multi, nutcase!Gin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 10:02:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1978686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mahlerman/pseuds/Mahlerman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"山外有山，楼外有楼" -Chinese Proverb.<br/>English: There are mountains outside mountains, and buildings outside buildings.<br/>Meaning: There is always someone out there who is better than you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

    It was a beautiful midsummer day in Tokyo. Birds were singing, the sun was shining, and a cool breeze rustled the leaves on the trees. Groups of tourists crowded the streets and ice cream shops overflowed with customers. Closed off from this hustle and bustle with a wall of leafy hedge was a park, interspersed with couples sitting hand in hand and a group of relaxed university students, chatting amiably about their summer plans. On the bleachers next to a worn tennis court, a boy was sprawled out beneath an open sports magazine, snoring softly. All was peaceful and tranqui-

    "Jack Knife! Eat that, you bastards!"

    A flock of birds took off from the trees, cawing in a disgruntled manner at the disturbance. Momoshiro couldn't have cared less as he swung wildly, sending the ball hurtling towards the opposition's court like a meteor towards Earth. However, like many meteors that hurtle toward our lovely planet, the ball never quite managed to reach the ground. With a contemptuous glance and a relaxed swing, Atobe Keigo returned the ball with elegance and grace. It landed neatly behind Momoshiro Takeshi and Echizen Ryoma's racquets, which had crashed when the two attempted to counter simultaneously. Momoshiro scoffed in annoyance and Ryoma glared balefully from behind his hat.

    "Love-fifteen, with the Atobe-Kabaji pair leading," Horio called from the sidelines, eyes wide with reverential awe. He, Katsuo, Kashiro, Sakuno, Tomoka, and Tachibana An were gathered by the sidelines, cheerleading for their beloved tennis superstars and bemoaning their recently lost points.

    Ryoma, who was usually able to tune out their simpering shrieks, could now feel them corkscrewing through his eardrums, fueling his building migraine. He was not quite sure how he had gotten himself entrenched in this situation. Originally, Ryoma’s plans for the day had consisted of sleeping, eating, some more sleeping, and playing with his cat. He thought he deserved a break after Seigaku’s win at Nationals the previous week, but Momoshiro, it seemed, had other ideas. Thanks to that imbecile, he was out on a street court attempting to salvage their pathetic doubles combination against the prissy captain of Hyotei and his devoted minion. Pulling a ball from his pocket, Ryoma glanced wistfully at the boy napping on the bleachers. Cursing his tall, smash-happy friend, Ryoma bounced the ball and prepared to serve.

    Earlier that morning, Echizen Ryoma was having a wonderful dream. He was crushing his brother mercilessly in a match. Instead of tennis balls, they were playing with oranges, which exploded upon contact with Ryoga's racquet. Tezuka handed him a trophy bearing the inscription: _Seigaku's Pillar of Support_ as Ryoga curled up among the orange debris and cried. His father, dressed smartly in a suit and tie, grinned approvingly from the crowd, where all the spectators were his past opponents, dressed in dazzling ball gowns-

    Something large, heavy, and smelling strongly of cologne landed on him, jerking Ryoma into reality. Blinking away the disturbingly hilarious image of Shiraishi in a feathery, neon pink dress, the image of a smirking Momoshiro came into focus. His hair was even more spiked with gel than usual and he was dressed in a button down shirt and slacks. This smartening up went unnoticed to Ryoma, who, upon realizing which little shit woke him up at such an ungodly hour of the morning, tossed Karupin at his upperclassman's head before burrowing under the covers. The cat did not take kindly to being pulled out of the warm bed and chucked across a room, and subsequently attacked the closest thing. The closest thing, as it happened, was Momoshiro's head.

    "Call off your hellion, Echizen! It's ruining my beautiful face!" Momo shrieked, struggling desperately to detach the enraged pet.

    Ryoma ignored his friend's plight and snuggled deeper into his pillow.

    "What the hell are you playing at, barging into someone's room at the crack of dawn?" Ryoma snarled, when Momo (now cat-free) jerked his blankets off, dumping the freshman unceremoniously on his bedroom floor.

    "Nine in the morning ain't the crack of dawn, dumbass," Momo grumbled, rubbing the scratches decorating his forehead. "Anyways, I have a date with An-chan today, and you're coming."

    Ryoma stared at his friend, incredulity pasted over his features. _At least that explains the man-perfume,_ he thought absently.

    "What did you just say?"

    "I have a date with Tachibana An today. You're coming with us."

    So, it seemed Ryoma's hearing wasn't going. However, Momo's sanity apparently was.

    "Momo-senpai…Do you know what a date _is_?"

    Momoshiro looked perplexed. "Of course I know what a date is, Echizen. If I didn't I wouldn't be going on one with Tachibana."

    "Yeah, Momo-senpai, you're supposed to be going on a date with _Tachibana_. That means you're dating _Tachibana_. However, you're inviting _me_ to join you on that date. That would imply that you guys are dating me as well. Wow, never knew you were into that kind of stuff, Momo."

    Ryoma was quite proud of himself for being that articulate so early in the morning. Unfortunately, this accomplishment went unnoticed by Momoshiro, who merely rolled his eyes and snorted derisively.

    "You wish, Echizen, you wish. An-chan's brother doesn't feel comfortable letting her go on dates alone, and usually tags along as a chaperone. Fortunately, he's sick today but still insists that someone accompanies us. Since you're our friend and aren't really the type to interrupt anything-" Momo waggled his eyebrows suggestively-"you're my best candidate."

    "No. Now piss off and let me sleep."

    Ryoma yanked his blankets back from Momoshiro and climbed back into bed.

    A good half hour of tussling, arguing, and a considerable amount of bribing ensued, ending with a triumphant Momoshiro leading an irate Ryoma out of the house. The pair had met Tachibana An at a small café near the train station, and, to Ryoma's utter un-amusement, it seemed that Momo had not informed An that he was bringing a chaperone. So, Tachibana An took it upon herself to bring someone to monitor her and Momo's date as well. _Please, let this be a nightmare. Please, just let me wake up in my nice, comfortable bed,_ Ryoma groaned internally. In front of him was Ryuuzaki Sakuno, knees collapsing together under a short skirt, hand clutching her chest as she stuttered and blushed. Though he didn’t find Sakuno herself particularly objectionable (aside from being vaguely annoying), he did have major objections to the leech-like behavior exhibited by her friend - _what was her name, again? Tomoe? Tamaki?_ \- who always seemed to magically pop up wherever Sakuno was, the freshman cheerleading trio of Horio, Katsuo, and Kachiro not far behind. Sure enough, when the quartet ventured into the movie theater, Sakuno's hyperactive friend leapt enthusiastically out from behind an Iron Man cutout, greeting them with a supersonic shriek. To Ryoma's chagrin, the male portion of his fan club had somehow teleported, Star-Trek style, into their showing of _Scream 5_ as well.

    Ryoma had to grudgingly commend Momoshiro on his choice of movie. It gave him the perfect opportunity to cling in a terrified fashion to his girlfriend while she soothingly stroked his spiky hair. However, this tactic did Ryoma no favors. The circulation in his limbs slowed to a standstill when both Tomoka and Sakuno captured his arms in death grips, and Horio somehow deemed it fit to latch onto Ryoma's head. As he walked out of the movie theater two hours later, rubbing his arms in an attempt to regain some blood flow, Ryoma wondered, grimacing, how it was possible for meek little Sakuno to have such a vice-like grip.

    Massaging his various sore appendages, Ryoma wandered over to the closest vending machine, intending to buy a soda to soothe his headache. Luck, however, was determinately not on his side that day. Being the suave middle schooler that he was, Ryoma often liked strutting about with his cap pulled low over his eyes, since looking where he was going was _so_ beneath him. Now, Ryoma usually pulled that off quite well; however, his brain did not quite regained all the blood it needed to carry out that maneuver, so he didn’t notice a certain egocentric Hyotei tennis captain prancing in front of him. Needless to say, the results were not pretty. To pay for the egregious offence of staining his ruffled designer shirt, Atobe Keigo demanded a match from Ryoma, thus dragging the prince of tennis, his friend, and various assembled minions to the nearest street court to duke it out. Ryoma suspected that Atobe's attitude, prissier than usual, was due to the still sore defeat at Nationals two weeks previous.

    A scowl etched itself firmly in Ryoma's features as he threw the ball up in the air and served. He and Momoshiro were losing 4-2, and Ryoma wanted nothing more than to wipe that supercilious sneer off of Atobe's face. With a grunt (and several adoring squeals from the sidelines), Ryoma sent the tennis ball flying into the opposition's court.

    "Oh my God! It's the Tornado Twist Serve!" Horio screeched.

    The scowl was replaced by a smirk. Atobe shifted to the side in anticipation, only to curse as he realized the ball was about to bounce in a completely different direction. However annoying Horio was, it was helpful when he called out shots with such amazing zeal and inaccuracy. This momentary victory was cut short, however, when Tachibana An screeched, "Look out!"

    Ryoma's serve was speeding straight towards the head of the sleeping boy in the bleachers, set in a trajectory to scrambling his brains. The group gave a collective wince as the resounding _SMACK_ of the tennis ball hitting flesh echoed around the court.

    The magazine slid to the ground, revealing a head of pale hair floating in a halo of post-sleep frizz. The tennis ball, mere centimeters from the boy's left eye, was clenched in long, spindly fingers. He sat up and squinted at them through lidded eyes, then looked at the ball in bemusement, as if just realizing he was holding it. Looking down at Ryoma's guilty expression, an air of understanding seemed to pass over him. Smirking, the stranger grabbed a bag from behind the bleachers and headed down towards the court.

    Ryoma instinctively took a step back. Despite being thin as a rake, the stranger, bouncing the tennis ball along the steps, cut a surprisingly intimidating figure. He was over six feet tall, and looked to be in his mid-teens. Silvery white strands of hair fell into his eyes and wiry muscles bunched under pale skin. However, it was his smile that inspired the irrational, overwhelming terror in Ryoma. It was wide, nearly stretching across the stranger's entire face, displaying rows of pearly teeth, exuding mockery and condescension. Ryoma was inexplicably reminded of a snake preparing to strike.

    "Now, now, play nice, why don't ya?" he drawled. "It never does any good when little kiddies start showin' off and end up hurtin' people now, does it?" He stopped at the bottom step and pulled a light green tennis racquet from his bag. Tossing the ball up in the air, he snapped his racquet down and sent the ball hurtling towards Ryoma's head. Ryoma barely had time to throw up his hand to stop it from knocking him out. The green felt scraped against his palm, an inch from his left eye.

    "You junior high kiddies are so serious. Why, just recently at your Nationals I saw two little brats beatin' each other into bloody pulps in a freakin' _preliminary_ match. It was entertainin', sure, but loosen up and enjoy the game, eh?"

    Ryoma rolled his eyes. It seemed like another high school poser decided to make fun of his tennis. He was about to challenge the stranger to a match when Sakuno interrupted.

    "Are you alright, sir?" she asked anxiously, gesturing at his hand.

    "I'm fine, sweetheart, a little serve like that couldn' hurt a fly," the boy replied. "'S not like it had any real force behind it."

    Hearing this, Ryoma twitched and glared at the stranger. Once again, he tried to challenge the stranger, and once again was interrupted by his adoring fans. Horio spun around to defend his idol's honor, shrieking, "But that was one of Echizen's Tornado Twist serves! He's taken out tons of opponents with its power and unpredictability!"

    For a second, the stranger looked nonplussed, looking between Horio and Ryoma. Then, he burst into peals of laughter.

    "That is _so_ …ADORABLE!" the grinning stranger choked out. "It's Ryoma-sama's Tornado Twist, attack power 500!" he squealed mockingly, before falling on the ground in hysterics. He attempted to right himself, but failed, collapsing once again in a fit of giggles.

    Momoshiro's annoyed frown deepened. "You think Echizen's serve's adorable? It's not like you actually know how we play. Anyways, you can't be that much older and better than us, so don't start making fun of our moves."

    The stranger snickered and got up. "Y'know, yer right about me being not much older than you guys, seein' as I'm only a firs’ year in high school myself. However, don' start assumin' things about me. Just 'cause ya haven' seen me play before doesn' mean I haven' seen you. Well, I haven't _seen_ you, per say, but I know that you, Momoshiro-kun and Echizen-kun over there are from Seigaku Middle School. Ya recently won Nationals thanks to Echizen-kun's _spectacular_ and _dazzling_ performance against Rikkaidai's prodigal captain, Yukimura Seiichi, despite appearin' to be hopelessly outmatched as a previously unknown freshman." He bent down and picked up his magazine, then walked back to the court. "However, apparently Echizen-kun actually possesses _amazing_ power in that midget body of his, as he was the winner of the US National Junior Championship for four consecutive years, even invited to play in the US Open, and proud supporter of Ponta soda." He tossed his magazine to Ryoma and snorted, "Or so I hear."

    The middle schoolers gathered around the publication, which turned out to be the most recent copy of _Monthly Pro-Tennis_. The stranger had opened it to a lengthy article, titled "Spectacular and Dazzling Performances During the Japanese Middle School Nationals Tournament." The story was a featured article, seven pages prominently displayed in the front. The first two pages were devoted to mini-profiles of notable players and matches of the quarterfinals and semifinals, the next two about the first four matches of the finals, and the last an in-depth exposé of Ryoma and his match with Yukimura, complete with pictures of him playing, watching matches, and drinking Ponta.

    "Looks like _someone's_ a favorite of the media," the stranger sang. "It's a testament to how little is goin' on in the tennis world when the feature story in a professional tennis magazine is a load of drivel about a bunch o' kids. Of course, nepotism didn' exactly hurt ya', now did it Echizen-chan?" The stranger winked at Ryoma.

    "Would you like a match, then?"

    The rib about his father was the last straw. _You'll be pleading for mercy by the time I'm done with you,_ Ryoma thought darkly.

    The stranger shrugged, yawning lazily. "Suppose I could indulge." He shooed Atobe and Kabaji off the court and got into position.

    "Go easy on me, won't ya, Echizen Ryoma? I know you brats seem to have a penchant for brutalizin' your opponents, but I don' particularly want ta go 'round with my gorgeous face lookin' like a truck ran over it."

    "Can't make any promises," Ryoma called heading towards the baseline.

_CRACK_. The ball ricocheted off the bleachers and flew back into the net.

    "Game to Echizen, 1-0," Atobe announced. Next to him, the Seigaku freshmen predicted another easy win for their prince.

    The stranger looked amused, still sporting that malicious grin despite his lack of points. He yawned as Ryoma prepared to serve, amidst the background noise of, "Here it comes! Ryoma-san's Twist Serve!"

    A dull _thwack_ resounded around the court as the ball hit the ground, mingling with the chiming ring of a mobile phone. Something nudged Ryoma's foot. Looking down, the young prodigy saw the fuzzy green ball roll to a halt. Across the court, the stranger was chatting nonchalantly on his cellphone, leaning on his racquet like the Monopoly man on his walking stick.

_I didn't even see him move_ , Ryoma thought numbly, picking up the offending ball.

    "Yup, yup, no need to nag; see ya then. Bye, bye~"

    "Sorry," the stranger apologized, pocketing the mobile, "An acquaintance o' mine wants to meet up in fifteen minutes, so I'm afraid we'll have to wrap this up pretty soon. I would promise ya a re-match, but I don't think we'll need one."

    Ryoma smirked. It seemed like this stranger actually had some bite behind his bark. Still, he wasn't about to admit that, considering how much his pride still stung from the earlier remarks, so he called out, "You're right; we won't need a re-match. I'll beat you in ten minutes."

    Nine minutes and forty-six seconds later, the ball lightly bounced on the far left corner of the court.

    Ryoma stood at the net, sweat dribbling down his face and splattering onto the ground. Adrenaline pumped through him and his mouth was curled in a smile.

    "Looks like we won' be needin' that rematch. Have to admit though, yer not as shitty as I expected ya to be."

    "Heh, you're not too shabby yourself," he said, a grin crossing his face.

    "Gee, thanks," the stranger replied sarcastically, "I really appreciate that." He walked over to the net and clasped Ryoma's outstretched hand.

    "Ryoma-sama…lost?" Tomoka wailed. "How could this happen!"

    "All of the techniques that Ryoma used to defeat his past opponents," Atobe murmured, "were utterly useless. Even the Pinnacle of Perfection was completely nullified."

    "Pinnacles? Of perfection, no less?" scoffed the stranger, "Middles schoolers are precious. I liked the Cyclone Smash one better, though. Not as pretentious, y'know? If ya think ya can perfect something like tennis, ya've either taken a few too many hits to the head, or yer ego's so big it's becomin' a public hazard. Or a combination of the two."

    With that, the stranger left, grabbing his bag and heading away from the court.

    "Wait!" Ryoma called out, running to catch up. "I think I at least deserve to know the name of my newest rival, don't you?"

    The stranger looked at Ryoma and raised an eyebrow.

    "Don' get too ahead of yerself, kid. Ya ain't as crappy as that sycophant of a reporter made ya out to be, but ya've still got a long way to go. Don' bother me until you can at least engage me in a game longer than ten minutes."

    Just as he reached the street, the stranger looked back and called out, "But for when that time comes…I'm Ichimaru Gin."

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Ring. Ring._

For the second Saturday in a row, Echizen Ryoma was rudely awoken from the midst of a blissful dream. It was quite similar to the one from the previous week, except instead of thrashing his adopted brother, the opponent he reduced to a blubbering mess was the boy from street courts. He pressed the heels of his palms to his closed eyes, trying to retain the image of Ichimaru Gin cowering at his feet, but the shrill ringing of his cell phone shattered his illusions. Ryoma blearily glowered at his impromptu alarm clock briefly, before grudgingly answering.

"Nnnnnghh," he groaned, the paragon of early-morning eloquence.

"Rise and shine, ochibi!" screeched a tinny voice from the speaker.

Ryoma's knuckles whitened around his mobile as he tried to quell his urge to punch something. Stabbing the 'end call' button with murderous intent, Ryoma burrowed back underneath his blankets and chucked the phone across the room. Unfortunately, it seemed the fates had decreed Ryoma and his beauty sleep were not to be.

_Ring. Ring._

"Ochibi! Why did you hang up on m-"

"I can't believe you did it again! You're so horrible to your senio-"

"Echizen, stop hanging up on Eiji. Have you forgotten that today-"

_Wait a second, that last one wasn’t Kikumaru_. Ryoma shot out of bed and scrambled for his phone.

"Captain?"

"Twenty laps on Monday for hanging up on me, Echizen. Twenty more laps if you aren't here in the next ten minutes."

"Right away, Captain!"

Ryoma struggled into his clothes at lighting speed, stumbled out his front door, and broke into a sprint. He made it halfway down the street before realizing he had no idea where he was going. After pausing to run through his recent conversations with Tezuka, the color drained from Ryoma's face. On Wednesday Tezuka had said that he had procured front row tickets for the team to watch the finals of the high school national championship, scheduled to take place at 10:00 AM on Saturday. Ryoma's watch read 9:45. Cursing furiously under his breath, Ryoma started sprinting towards the nearest subway station.

The first thing Ryoma saw when he skidded to a halt at the main gate was Fuji, smiling serenely and waving maliciously. The next thing he saw was Tezuka, sporting his infamous Glare of Doom ™. _A little piece of my soul just died,_ Ryoma thought, quailing slightly as he approached.

"Forty laps on Monday," Tezuka snapped. "It's been at least twenty minutes since I called you."

"Actually, you should make it fifty," Fuji quipped serenely, "for committing such an atrocity against fashion."

Ryoma looked down and winced. Somehow in his rush to get out the door, he had ended up sporting a lurid pink shirt with magenta pants. He didn't even know he _owned_ magenta pants.

"It honestly hurts to look at you," Fuji commented as they found their seats with the rest of the team.

_There goes another piece of my soul. And my dignity._

Echizen Ryoma was, after escaping the vengeful glares of Tezuka, having a good time. The two competing teams were Rikkaidai's sister high school and a new school from Hokkaido that Ryoma had never heard of. The first game, Doubles-2, was progressing reasonably slowly, but it was apparent from the careful control and precision of the players that both sides were extremely good.

Inui, sitting on Ryoma's left side, was scribbling furiously in his notebook.

"I thought you would have gotten all the information possible on the players before the match even started, senpai," Momo quipped from Ryoma's other side.

"Gotei High School decided to swap out all their original players a half hour before the first match started, so this is the first time I'm seeing these most of these players. It's very frustrating; they seem to always change their lineup last minute right before their matches so no player has played more than one match. I have more data on some of the better known players, but I have at most one match worth of information on most of the team," Inui said, straightening his glasses.

"They changed their whole lineup right before the match? Isn't that breaking the rules?" Ryoma asked.

"It's not exactly breaking rules, per se, since substitutes are allowed in case of an injury, like when Momo had to replace Oishi during the Kantou Tournament. It's just that nobody ever does it for the _whole team_. What's even more odd is that this is the second time Gotei's done this. They changed their regionals players just before entering the first round of Nationals as well."

"What, so they just have an unlimited number of regular-level players that they can just swap out?" Ryoma said, sounding dubious.

"It would appear to be so-" Momo started to say, before getting distracted by a busty redhead that had seated herself next to him.

Inui scoffed at Momo and turned to Ryoma.

"I can't make any conclusion based on the limited data I've been able to collect, but objectively the players that are getting swapped in seem to be getting better and better. However, while it may seem that they have a stupidly large amount of good players, luck seems to have played a large part in their success. Hokkaido isn't known for having an abundance of strong high school tennis teams, and most of the favorites for Nationals like Seigaku, Hyotei, and Shitenhoji were pitted against each other during the quarter and semifinals."

"So they don't necessarily have an unlimited number of aces. Hey Momo, don't you have a girlfriend?" Ryoma snapped, casually kicking Momo to bring him out of his boob-induced stupor.

"Doesn't mean I can't appreciate beauty when I see it," Momo replied nonchalantly, casting a sidelong glance at the girl, who was texting obliviously on her phone.

"Have some class, senpai," Ryoma muttered.

"I'm not doing anything wrong! What's the worst that could happen?" Momo insisted.

"Well," the girl said, looking up from her cellular device, "I could get my brother to come beat you up."

Momoshiro choked on air and stuttered an apology, sounding vaguely like a dying whale.

"Kidding," she chirped, blue eyes twinkling, "He's waaay to lazy to beat up people for me. The little shit would probably just make me do it myself."

"Sounds like Echizen," Inui chuckled, ruffling Ryoma's hair. "I'm Inui Sadaharu. Sorry for my teammate’s ogling.”

The girl chuckled and accepted Inui's proffered hand. "Matsumoto Rangiku. It's nice to m-oh hey, we won."

Ryoma, Momo, and Inui looked up at the call, "6-4, game and match to Gotei, Ikkaku-Yumichika pair."

" 'We' won? So you're form Gotei," Ryoma commented, glancing at the girl.

"Yup," she nodded, flashing a peace sign, "Vice-captain of the girls tennis team."

"Mind telling us what's up with all the last minute lineup switches?" Ryoma asked, looking intently at Rangiku, as if trying to stare the answers out of her. Momoshiro and Inui perked up, interest piqued.

"Quit it with the death glare, kid, and I may consider it," Rangiku said, waiting until Ryoma turned down his laser eyes a few notches.

"Well, our boys tennis team is new. We only have a boys team this year because there was a small group of guys who didn't want to bum around on street courts while the girls got the nice, spanking new facilities at school. The problem was, they only had four people and needed at least three more to become a proper club to compete in Regionals and such. So, they put out an ad that said anyone who joined would get a chance to play in a tournament. About fifty people signed up, but half dropped one week in."

"Is your training really that terrifying?" Momoshiro asked, amazed.

Rangiku snorted. "Well you see, the brother I mentioned earlier was one of the original founders of the club, and he's got some…interesting connections. Basically he found this nutcase of an old dude who I guess used to be some sort of tennis genius and bribed him into coaching the team, and that's how they've got Old Man Yamamoto whipping them into shape."

Inui's glasses nearly flew off his face with the speed he turned his head to get a good look at Gotei's coach, who was sitting regally on the coach's bench next to a bespectacled boy with tousled brown hair.

"Their coach is THE Yamamoto Genryusai Shigekuni?!" Inui practically squeaked. "Wasn't he the first internationally respected Japanese tennis player ever to win a Grand Slam? And your brother _bribed_ him to be a high school coach?"

"Bribed may be a mite tame of a verb," Rangiku said, looking thoughtful. "Blackmail may be a bit more accurate, actually. He's got a flair for that kind of thing."

Inui's facial hue edged towards an apoplectic purple. "Your brother _blackmailed_ and internationally renowned-"

"Anyways," Rangiku continued, barreling through Inui's indignation, "there were still twenty-five survivors from Yamamoto's initial purge and a few dropped along the way, but it worked out so that they could fit in everyone in three rotations. We've been holding out so far, but now that Gotei's showing their true colors, the matches coming up should be fun."

The match had progressed to Singles-3. Goteir's representative was a lithe, pale specimen with flowing black hair and an icy, contemptuous expression on his face. His movements were precise and deadly, his dark blue racket a blurring with the neon of the tennis ball. The challenger from Rikkai had talent, but was hopelessly outclassed by-

"Ooh, just look at Byakuya-chan showing off for the ladies. Dat ass, though. Shame he looks like there's been a stick shoved up it." Rangiku sighed and flopped against the rail meant to keep back rabid fans from their tennis idols.

Ryoma raised an appraising eyebrow. This girl was obviously high on crack. Or pubescent hormones.

The match ended quickly, once again in Gotei's favor. The boy, Byakuya, strolled off the court, barely perspiring, to the opposite end of the stadium where the rest of his teammates waited. He saw him walk over to a benevolent-looking brunet in glasses and exchange a few words, before tapping a short, stern-looking boy with starch white hair on the shoulder. Ryoma nearly fell out of his chair in shock as another pale haired individual popped up next to Byakuya, infuriating grin visible even from across the stadium.

" _Momoshiro!_ " Ryoma hissed, whacking his friend on the arm. " _Look who it is!"_

Momoshiro followed Ryoma's gaze to see Ichimaru Gin, dressed in the crisp black Gotei uniform, nonchalantly chatting up a storm with Byakuya and the short kid.

"Holy shit, it's that guy from the public courts!" Momo exclaimed, eyes going wide.

Rangiku turned towards the middle schoolers, a look of interest on her face. "One of the members was playing with kids on a public court? I'd've paid good money to see any of the team members bother with competing against you kiddies."

_Such unjustified arrogance,_ Ryoma thought sourly. Momo, however, persuaded by the jiggle of Rangiku's ample bosom revealed, "Yeah, Echizen here almost concussed the kid with the white hair last week while we were playing on the public courts near Shibuya. The guy retaliated by totally whooping Echizen's ass 6-1 in ten minutes."

Groaning at his friend's loose lips, Ryoma braced himself for a hysterical mockery from the buxom redhead, but was surprised to see her face morph into a carefully blank expression.

"The white haired kid…the one that smiles a lot? Not the one with an expression that would freeze lava?" she asked, voice tight.

"Ichimaru Gin," Ryoma sighed. "The one who's got the creeper leer twenty-four/seven?"

" _That moronic cretin,_ " Rangiku hissed. "I told him not to do anything stupid a week before Nationals. We _all_ told him not to do anything stupid a week before Nationals. I can't believe he-"

She cut herself off with a murmured, "Excuse me," and rose from her seat, striding angrily towards the exit.

The next match started, except it was less of a one-sided game this time around. The Gotei player was a monster, a wall of muscle and death glares, but his opponent was slight and sly and quick on his feet.

The game stagnated, and Ryoma was distracted when he saw a mop of bright red hair appear among the waiting Gotei players. Rangiku yanked Ichimaru by his arm and dragged him over to the back, where she appeared to be chastising him quite severely. As the rest of the team turned in on the pair to see what was going on, Ichimaru's quicksilver grin seemed to freeze. Ryoma agreed with Inui's initial assessment about Gotei's idiosyncrasies, what with the constant swapping of players and overreaction to ten-minute street games.

Other members, however, looked to be in conjunction with Rangiku's attitude. The captain was not looking so benevolent anymore and ‘Byakuya-chan’ looked even pissier than before, a feat Ryoma had not thought possible.

They were so caught up in Ichimaru's apparent indiscretion that none of them noticed their brawny teammate had just lost to the small Rikkai player. The teammate in question seemed rather put off by this, his craggy face falling into a pout. However, Ryoma was indifferent to his plight. Ichimaru had broken free of the circle surrounding him, snarling at Rangiku. He grabbed his racket and strode onto the court, eyes glinting and mouth set in a sneer. Ryoma could see his clenched knuckles whiten around the grip of his racket.

"Isn't Doubles-1 next?" Momoshiro asked. "That guy plays doubles?"

Ryoma blinked; surprisingly, Momo was right. Despite his obvious talent for singles, which Ryoma had seen firsthand, Ichimaru was being joined on the court by the short scowling kid.

"Hitsugaya Toshirou and Ichimaru Gin," Inui said, "Well if that's not the strangest combination I've ever seen, I don't know what is."

"You know them, senpai?" Ryoma asked, shooting a quick look at Inui.

"Yeah, they're among the four players that I actually have data on. They're both quite well known among the competition circuits. Ichimaru Gin gained notoriety in tournaments all around the world since he was in elementary school before he suddenly stopped competing two years ago. Hitsugaya's actually Echizen’s age but skipped his last three years of elementary school. He’s rising star in the high school circuits who's being dubbed the 'next Ichimaru.' It's rather ironic that they're playing doubles together."

Ryoma said nothing, turning around to watch the match start. The opponents from Rikkaidai were strong, but there was a seamlessness to Ichimaru and Hitsugaya's play that transcended anything Ryoma had ever seen in the Golden Pair. However, the pace they set was relaxed and easy going, drawing the match out longer and longer as the two teams volleyed endlessly.

After what seemed like an eon, it appeared that Ichimaru was done playing games. As the ball sped towards his corner of the court, he twisted his wrist and slashed his racket in a line of green. The ball disappeared. A few seconds later it glided across the opposite court, leaving a dark skid mark in its wake.

The crowd went wild, and Ryoma thought he heard Tezuka murmur, "That's Tsubame Gaeshi taken to the next level, Fuji."

Ichimaru absently rubbed his wrist, gaze trained like a hawk on Hitsugaya's serve. The pace of the game picked up after that, the serves and volleys growing increasingly more elaborate. Seeing how easily Ichimaru seemed to execute many of his teammates' trademark moves with more grace, power, and precision, Ryoma realized just how much Ichimaru must have been holding back the week before. Envy towards the Rikkai players crept up Ryoma's throat. His adrenaline was on the rise just from watching the game imagine what it would be like if he were actually in i-

A piercing, unearthly shriek split the air as the mint green racket clattered to the ground. Ichimaru staggered, his right hand, his racket hand, convulsing grotesquely. Hitsugaya started to rush over, but before he could take more than a couple steps, Ichimaru slammed his wrist into the ground. A sickening crack resounded through the stadium as blood trickled onto the concrete.


	3. chappy tres

The walls of the hospital room were turquoise. Ichimaru Gin stared at it, his trademark smile tight with annoyance. Next to him, Aizen Sousuke was espousing upon something Gin cared very little about, and Rangiku was sitting by the window, noisily filing her nails. 

 

“-still can’t believe you would go up and challenge some pipsqueak the _week before Nationals_ , you complete and utter idiot, and look what happened? The doctors don’t even know if you can hold a racquet in that hand ever again, given the state of your tendons-”

 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Gin moaned, “Sou-chan, do you ever shut up? We won, didn’t we?”

 

“No thanks to you,” Aizen retorted tartly. “And don’t get me started on what your little stunt did to team morale! Abarai’s face was practically green-”

 

“Very festive of him,” Gin giggled. Aizen leveled a pointed glare at him. 

 

“Anyways, so what if my right hand’s out for the count? It was on it’s way out anyway, I just put it out of its misery. Learnin’ lefty shouldn’t pose that much of a problem.” 

 

From her perch on the windowsill, Rangiku scoffed. 

 

“I see that my wisdom is completely lost on you. If you’re going to be like this I see no reason for me to stay,” Aizen sighed dramatically. He got up from Gin’s cot and made to leave. Pausing in the doorway he turned his head slightly and said, “See me after you get discharged. We have to decide what to do with you for the U-17 camp.”  

 

Once the door had closed behind Aizen, Gin’s smile slid into a grimace. 

 

“ _And then there were two._ Do you think Sousuke will still talk to me if I quit?” he asked Rangiku.

 

Rangiku shrugged, scraping a file across her index finger. “What you did was a stupid ass thing to do. If you weren’t ready for the tournament you should have told us so we could’ve subbed you out, especially after exacerbating your problems by secretly playing street tennis. And smashing your arm on the tennis court? I know you have a flair for the dramatic, Gin, but seriously what the hell?”  


“I don’ know, it seemed like a good idea at the time,” Gin whined.

 

“I’m sure,” Rangiku sniffed disapprovingly. “I suppose playing street games with an injury ‘seemed like a good idea at the time’ as well.”

 

Gin shrugged. “Well, yeah.” Vaguely hysteric laughter started to bubble out of him.   


“What now?” Rangiku asked dryly. 

 

“At least you had the decency to wait until Sou-chan left to keep roastin’ me. My fragile soul couldn’ have taken it if both of you decided to gang up on me,” Gin chuckled.  

 

Rangiku heaved a deep sigh and sat down in Aizen’s recently vacated seat on Gin’s cot. She ran her fingers through his hair, chuckling as at his irritated protests as she pushed his bangs into a stubby tuft. 

 

“What am I going to do with you, hmm?” she asked sadly. 

 

“You can grow me some new tendons for starters,” he replied. “Stem cell technology’s been making progress, I hear.”

 

Matsumoto snorted. 

 

“Feel better,” she said, depositing a quick kiss on his forehead.

 

“Mmm, bye,” Gin murmured as she walked out the door.

 

_And then there was one,_ Gin thought, watching the door swing shut. His wrist prickled unpleasantly, and his arm itched under the plaster and bandages as the welts in his skin mended themselves. Idly, Gin plucked at the tape around his IV. The prickling was working its way up to a burn, nauseatingly reminiscent of the feeling during his Nationals match. The feeling intensified, and Gin twisted the tape harder, wishing for a way to just make it _stop._ He fell asleep like that, fingers knotted in the starched sheets, cold sweat beading his face. 

 

***

 

“’m in.”

 

“Hmm, yes, well we’ve run into a slight blip regarding that.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do you remember the proposal Yamamoto floated back in March?”

 

“…what the actual fuck, Sousuke. You better be fuckin’ kiddin’ me or I swear-”

 

“Unfortunately, I’m being deadly serious, Gin. Needless to say you can’t come in your current condition, so I’m afraid you’ll have to stay at the camp.”

 

“Wait, no. This means I have to interact with other people. You know I can’ interact with other people.”

 

“Oh, apparently they’re inviting a flock of middle schoolers to attend this year. Should be interesting, don’t you think?”

 

“You revel in my pain, don’t you, Sou-chan? Should have pegged you as a sadist.”

 

“Mmm, well, you’re not wrong.”

 

“Has anyone told you that you’re a lil’ shit, Sousuke? ‘Cause you’re a lil’ shit.”

 

“Thank you for the compliment, Gin. Have fun playing with the children.” 

 

 

***

 

“Chibi-chan’s late,” Kikumaru declared, flopping down on one of the benches bordering the U-17 tennis courts.

 

“Isn’t he always?” Fuji griped under his breath. “Boy may be a prodigy, but he has absolutely no respect for punctuality.” 

 

“Cut him some slack, Fuji, he’s coming all the way from America. Maybe his flight got delayed,” Oishi reasoned.

 

Fuji sniffed. “He just doesn’t value good opportunities when they throw themselves at him. Remember when he barely bothered to show up for front row seats at the high school nationals? Granted, it got a little gruesome, but there was some seriously high-level playing in those matches. It was a great experience and when the kid shows up he’s dressed like a colorblind circus…” Fuji continued to grumble cantankerously.

 

“Hey, Inui-senpai, what’s up with Fuji-senpai? He’s being unusually bitchy today,” Momoshiro whispered to Inui. 

 

Inui harrumphed uncomfortably, fiddling with his glasses. “Well,” he began, “it’s not really my place to inform you of this but Fuji’s been rather moody since he found out that Tezuka, ah, well, I really shouldn’t be the one to tell you this-”

 

Momo rolled his eyes and gestured for Inui to continue.

 

“Mmyes, I really don’t think it would be appropriate for me to let you know before the others…” Inui trailed off, voice dying at the mildly vulgar sight of Momoshiro pouting at him.

 

“Ahem, erm, I guess there’s no harm in you knowing as long as you _stop making that ridiculous face_ , but… Tezuka’sgoingtoGermanyandFuji’supsetbecausethey’repracticallymarried.”

 

It took Momoshiro a few moments to unravel Inui’s rushed garble of words, but he got there eventually. He took a deep breath. 

 

“TE-hmphrg” 

 

Inui clapped his hand over Momoshiro’s mouth to muffle any impassioned exclamation’s at the newfound discovery. He had been afraid of this, if he let the cat out of the bag. The overzealous shouting. The begging for Tezuka to stay with them. The abundance of free-flowing man tears. 

 

“Quiet, fool! This kind of reaction is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you,” Inui snarled. “Now, as long as you agree to keep your trap shut I will release you.” 

 

Momoshiro nodded as best he could when his head was clamped in Inui’s grip. Inui released him. Momoshiro seemed to be on the verge of launching into a fierce, whispered tirade when Kikumaru (thankfully) interrupted.

 

“Hey, Inui, do you think the Gotei team members will be attending as well? I heard Marui Bunta talking about the Rikkai high school team coming so I’m guessing the Gotei team would be here as we-”

 

“Felicitations! You guessed right!”

 

Kikumaru screamed as Ichimaru Gin’s upside down face suddenly appeared in front of his. He promptly fell of the bench and attempted to scramble backwards. Gin righted himself, cackling madly.

 

The rest of the gathered Seigaku team gaped. 

 

Fuji recovered the quickest. “Oh, it’s the crazy one,” he sniffed.

 

Gin tsked. “Please, Kenpachi’s the _real_ crazy one on our team. I’m just a doddering old kook in comparison.” 

 

Fuji raised an eyebrow. “You were carried off the court, screaming.”

 

Gin’s smile widened. He leaned in towards Fuji, a mere centimeter of space separating their faces. “Everyone has their off days, sweetheart,” he breathed softly, eyes cracking open to glare at Fuji. 

“Why are you here?” a deadpan voice drifted from behind the group. “And why are you about to make out with Fuji-senpai?” 

 

“Echizen! You made it!” Momoshiro exclaimed.

 

Sure enough, Gin turned around to see Echizen Ryoma framed dramatically by the light of the setting sun, staring down imposingly at the denizens of the court. 

 

“Just spreadin’ the luuuuuuurve, Ryo-chan,” cooed Gin, straightening up. He strode up the hill to Ryoma’s position so he could once again use his superior height to stare down imposingly at the midget. Ryoma stared up at him, challenge sparking in his eyes. _Ah, now the natural order of things has been restored,_ Gin thought, beaming down at Ryoma’s heated glare.

 

“Why aren’t you bothering your own teammates, Ichimaru?” Ryoma groused, breaking their stare and heading down towards the rest of his team. “They abandon you or something?”

 

Gin’s smile tightened. “What a perceptive young man! Yes, as a matter of fact the team that I built up with my own bare hands up and flies of to Europe, leaving me stuck with a horde of fuckin’ pipsqueaks. Can you believe it? Traitors, the whole lot of them. I mean, you’d think Shirou-chan would be the obvious choice to leave behind, right? So he can interact with his age group an’ all that jazz. But noooooo, why don’t we just leave the cripple, eh? Send him a smug lil’ postcard about ‘oooh Gin, Paris is sooooooo nice, we had the best hot chocolate for breakfast this morning, hope you’re having fun in camp!’” Gin paused to draw a breath through his nose. The Seigaku team stared at him, bemused. 

 

_Perhaps I’ve scared them,_ thought Gin. _Good._ He turned around to walk away. 

 

“Wait!”

 

Gin stopped and looked over his shoulder. Ryoma had removed his racquet from his bag and had it pointed at Gin.

 

“Play a game against me, Ichimaru.”

 

Ichimaru checked his watch. The mess hall wouldn’t open for dinner for at least another hour. He sighed and turned around. 

 

“Sure, just say the magic word,” he trilled. 

 

“Please, Ichimaru,” Ryoma gritted out.

 

“Please, Ichimaru _what._ ”

 

“Please, Ichimaru-senpai.”

 

“There we go!” Gin beamed. 

 

He hopped down to the courts and plucked Ryoma’s racquet out of his hands. 

“Left my racquet in my room so I guess I’ll have to make do with yours,” Gin commented as he crossed to the other side of the court. “’s a bit small, but I guess it’s a small racquet for a small person, eh?” 

 

Ryoma deliberately aimed for Gin’s cast-covered wrist.

 

“So rude, Ryo-chan,” huffed Gin, slicing the shot back with his borrowed racquet. 

 

Gin wondered if he could finish the game before a member of the staff noticed that they were breaking that stupid ‘no extemporaneous games allowed’ rule. As it turned out, he could, finishing 6-2 as one of the coaches strode angrily towards them. 

 

“Ichimaru!” Tsuge Ryuji roared, “Stop goading younger students into illegal matches!”

 

“Yes, yes, many apologies, Beefcake-sensei,” Gin muttered, tossing Ryoma’s racquet back to him. On the bench, he heard Fuji stifle a giggle at his nickname. 

 

Gin set off at a light jog in anticipation of the “Sixty laps!” shouted at him. _Aww, that’s sweet of him,_ Gin mused. _Last year he woulda given me a hundred. He probably feels sorry ‘cause of the arm._ Nevertheless, Gin appreciated the sentiment and blew Tsuge a kiss as he made his way around the court. Around him, the middle schoolers had gone into a panic as tennis balls rained down from the heavens in the camp’s first purge to root out the unworthy. Gin snickered at their alarmed shouts, his own tennis ball safely ensconced in his pocket. _Perhaps the summer wouldn’t be as unbearable as he’d assumed,_ he thought, watching the other campers running around like beheaded chickens _._

 

_Scratch that,_ Gin thought as his wrist gave a dull twinge, _this summer’s gonna be awful._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> has ichimaru gin become my own personal mary sue? yes, it seems to be the case

**Author's Note:**

> concrit is welcome  
> cross-posted on ffnet


End file.
